Leisure: On the Square

Though it may seem odd in a country embroidered with stereophonic phonographs and power-braked convertibles, choreographed for the twist and headed for outer space, square dancing is more popular than ever.

For the ninth annual Golden State Roundup last week, more than 8,000 square dancers trekked to Oakland's Municipal Auditorium from as far away as Canada and the East Coast. "EIGHT SPIN-AWAY WITH A HALF SASHAY! " honked the caller, and off they went—careening and reeling, wheeling and jumping, into each other's arms and out again while the music sawed and pounded out She'll Be Comin' Round the Mountain.

A Good Couple Thing. The French invented the four-couple, square-formation dance, which they called the quadrille and exported to England, whence it came to New England and bounced and jigged its way across the continent with the kind of men and women who appreciated a dance that could work off a lot of steam and change a lot of partners.

Today there is as much steam as ever—and more partners. Some 1,000,000 serious square-dance buffs do-se-do in the U.S., and no one knows how many more people there are who are simply ready for a hoedown any old time. On village greens, in country barns, school gymnasiums and palatial estates (including the Palm Beach mansion of Post Toasties Heiress Marjorie Merriweather Post Hutton Davies May) the grand-right-and-lefts go on all year long.

Why? One reason is that square dancing is a friendly way of meeting friendly people. Said George Norton, president of the Northern California Square Dancers Association (103 clubs, 11,000 members): "Just watch how those people come into contact with one another and smile. These aren't profound friendships, but they're easy ones to make and wonderful ones to enjoy." Consequently, square dancers tend to be middle-aged couples in the kind of jobs that include little social life.

Bill Davis, 38, of Menlo Park, Calif., a staff scientist for the Lockheed Aircraft Co., has been square dancing two or three times a week for the past ten years. "It's like a show in which everybody can participate," he says. "And it's a good couple thing—a sport in which the man doesn't necessarily dominate. At the same time, it's a head game—it takes more skill than most people know."

"Strip the Gears." Davis is sufficiently proficient to be a caller. Callers, who command fees ranging from a modest $10 to $150 a night, ring the changes on some 60 calls, with which they keep the dancers on their toes for some 145 beats to the minute, in three "sets" per dance, followed by a short intermission for breath-catching and flirting. The tune can be anything with an air and a beat, better if it is something everybody knows, like Skip to My Lou Gal or Turkey in the Straw, Buffalo Gals or Darling Nellie Gray. The real trick is knowing what the caller means and picking it up fast when he sounds off with: "Bend the line and Dixie chain . . . Strip the gears and do-se-do." Or even the famed (in New England) Doodar— call to the tune of De Camptown Races: